lli 

9 


I 


ML 


RENASCENCE 


RENASCENCE 

AND 
OTHER  POEMS 


BY 

EDNA  ST.  VINCENT  MILLAY 


NEW  YORK 

MITCHELL  KENNERLEY 
MCMXVII 


COPYRIGHT    1917   BY 
MITCHELL  KENNERLEY 


PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES 
BY  THE  VAIL'BAULOU  COMPANY 
BINGHAMTON  NEW  YORK 


PAGE 

RENASCENCE  I 

INTERIM  !£ 

THE  SUICIDE  30 

GOD'S  WORLD  40 

AFTERNOON  ON  A  HILL  4! 

SORROW  43 

TAVERN  44 

ASHES  OF  LIFE  46 

THE  LITTLE  GHOST  48 

KIN  TO  SORROW  er 

THREE  SONGS  OF  SHATTERING  53 

THE  SHROUD  r£ 

THE  DREAM  58 

INDIFFERENCE  5o 

WITCH-WIFE  6! 

BLIGHT  £2 

WHEN  THE  YEAR  GROWS  OLD  65 

UNNAMED  SONNETS  I-V  6g 

SONNET  vi  [BLUEBEARD]  73 


RENASCENCE 

could  see  from  where  I  stood 
Was  three  long  mountains  and  a  wood; 
I  turned  and  looked  the  other  way, 
And  saw  three  islands  in  a  bay. 
5    So  with  my  eyes  I  traced  the  line 
Of  the  horizon,  thin  and  fine, 
Straight  around  till  I  was  come 
Back  to  where  I'd  started  from; 
And  all  I  saw  from  where  I  stood 
[Q  Was  three  long  mountains  and  a  wood. 
Over  these  things  I  could  not  see: 
These  were  the  things  that  bounded  me ; 

i 


RENASCENCE 

And  I  could  touch  them  with  my  hand, 
Almost,  I  thought,  from  where  I  stand. 

!£"  And  all  at  once  things  seemed  so  small 
My  breath  came  short,  and  scarce  at  all. 
But,  sure,  the  sky  is  big,  I  said; 
Miles  and  miles  above  my  head  j      •» 
So  here  upon  my  back  I'll  lie 

'  0     And  look  my  fill  into  the  sky. 
And  so  I  looked,  and,  after  all, 
The  sky  was  not  so  very  tall. 
The  sky,  I  said,  must  somewhere  stop, 
And  —  sure  enough !  —  I  see  the  top ! 
The  sky,  I  thought,  is  not  so  grand; 
I  'most  could  touch  it  with  my  hand  1 
And  reaching  up  my  hand  to  try, 
I  screamed  to  feel  it  touch  the  sky. 


RENASCENCE 


I  screamed,  and  —  lo !  —  Infiajjy  _ 
^OCame  down  and  settled  over  me; 

Forced  back  my  scream  into  my  chest, 

Bent  back  my  arm  upon  my  breast, 

And,  pressing  of  the  Undefined 

The  definition  on  my  mind, 
3 5  Held  up  before  my  eyes  a  glass 

Through  which  my  shrinking  sight  did  pass 

Until  it  seemed  I  must  behold 

Immensity  made  manifold ; 

Whispered  to  me  a  word  whose  sound 
S  0  Deafened  the  air  for  worlds  around, 

And  brought  unmuffled  to  my  ears 

The  gossiping  of  friendly  spheres,. 

The  creaking  of  the  tented  sky, 

The  ticking  of  Eternity. 

3 


:5 


T  RENASCENCE 

-v 

saw  and  heard  and  knew  at  last 
The  How  and  Why  of  all  things,  past, 

present^and  forevermore. 
'  The  Universe,  cleft  to  the  core, 
Lay  open  to  my  probing  sense 
That,  sick'ning,  I  would  fain  pluck  thence 
But  could  not, —  nay !     But  needs  must  suck 
At  the  great  wound,  and  could  not  pluck 
My  lips  away  till  I  had  drawn 
All  venom  out. —  Ah,  fearful  pawn ! 
5-S  For  my  omniscience  paid  I  toll 

In  infinite  remorse  of  soul. 

' - 3~-"  ' 

All  sin  was  of  my  sinning,  all 

Atoning  mine,  and  mine  the  gall 

Of  all  regret.     Mine  was  the  weight 

Of  every  brooded  wrong,  the  hate 

4 


RENASCENCE 

That  stood  behind  each  envious  thrust, 

Mine  every  greed,  mine  every  lust. 

And  all  the  while  for  every  grief. 

Each  suffer  ing,  I  craved  relief 
65  With  individual  desire, — 

Craved  all  in  vain!.  And  felt  fierce  fire 
/About  a  thousand  people  crawl; 

Perished  with  each, —  then  mourned  for  all ! 

A  man  was  starving  in  Capri ; 

moved  his  eyes  and  looked  at  me; 

I  felt  his  gaze,  I  heard  his  moan, 

And  knew  his  hunger  as  my  own. 

I  saw  at  sea  a  great  fog  bank 

Between  two  ships  that  struck  and  sank; 
7^ A  thousand  screams  the  heavens  smote; 

And  every  scream  tore  through  mv^throat. 

5 


RENASCENCE 


n     No  hurt  I  did  not  feel,  no  death 

That  was  not  mine;  mine  each  last  breath 
That,  crying,  met  an  answering  cry 

-s^  From  the  compassion  that  was  I. 
All  suffering  mine,  and  mine  its  rod; 
Mine,  pity  like  the  pity  of  God. 
V     Ah,  awful  weight !     Infinity 

Pressed  down  upon  the  finite  Me! 
My  anguished  spirit,  like  a  bird, 
Beating  against  my  lips  I  heard; 
Yet  lay  the  weight  so  close  about 
There  ^vas  no  room  for  it  without. 
And  so  beneath  the  weight  lay  I 

suffered  death,  but  could  not  die. 


Long  had  I  lain  thus,  craving  death, 

6 


RENASCENCE 

When  quietly  the  earth  beneath 
Gave  way,  and  inch  by  inch,  so  great 
At  last  had  grown  the  crushing  weight, 
Into  the  earth  I  sank  till  I 
Full  six  feet  under  ground  did  lie,  < 
And  sank  no  more,  —  there  is  no  weight 
Can  follow  here,  however  great. 
From  off  my  breast  I  felt  it  roll, 
And  as  it  went  my  tortured  soul 
Burst  forth  and  fled  in  such  a  gust 
That  all  about  me  swirled  the  dust. 


.  :\ 

Deep  in  the  eartl^J  rested  now: 

***Br 

Cool  is  its  hand  upon  the  brow 
^  And  soft  its  breast  beneath  the  head 
Of  one  who  is  so  gladly  dead. 

7 


RENASCENCE 

And  all  at  once,  and  over  all 

The  pitying  rain  began  to  fall ; 

I  laf  and  heard  each  pattering  hoof 

Upon  my  lowly,  thatched  roof, 

And  seemed  to  love  the  sound  far  more 

Than  ey^x  I  had  done  before. 

For  rain  it  hath  a  friendly  sound 

To  one  who's  six  feet  under  ground; 

And  scarce  the  friendly  voice  or  face: 

A  grave  is  such  a  quiet  place. ^ 

The  rain,  I  said,  is  kind  to  come 
And  speak  to  me  in  my  new  home. 
I  would  I  were  alive  again 
7  To  kiss  the  fingers  of  the  rain, 
To  drink  into  my  eyes  the  shine 

8 


RENASCENCE 

.» 

Of  every  slanting  silver  line, 

To  catch  the  freshened,  fragrant  breeze 

From  drenched  and  dripping  apple-trees. 

soon  the  shower  will  be  done, 
And  then  the  broad  face  of  the  sun 
Will  laugh  above  the  rain-soaked  earth 
Until  the  world  with  answering  mirth 
Shakes  joyously,  and  each  round  drop 
Rolls,  twinkling,  from  its  grass-blade  top. 
How  can  I  bear  it;  buried  here, 
While  overhead  the  sky  grows  clear 
And  blue  again  after  the  storm? 
O,  multi-colored,  multiform, 
Beloved  beauty  over  me, 
That  I  shall  never,  never  see 
Again!     Spring-silver,  autumn-gold, 

9 


RENASCENCE 


That  I  shall  never  more  behold! 


/  v\          ?' 

\   Sleeping  your  myriad  magics  through,  ;\        A  }^\ 

frr 


;  , 

/  3pClose-sepuichred  away  from  you! 

O  God,  I  cried,  give  me  new  birth, 
And  put  me  back  upon  the  earth! 
Upset  each  cloud's  gigantic  gourd 
And  let  the  heavy  rain,  down-poured 
In  one  big  torrent,  set  me  free, 
Washing  my  grave  away  from  me! 


I  ceased;  and  through  the  breathless  hush 
That  answered  me,  the  far-off  rush 
Of  herald^wings  came  whispering 
Like  music  down  the  vibrant  string 
Of  my  ascending  prayer,  and  —  crash! 
Before  the  wild  wind's  whistling  lash 


ro 


RENASCENCE 

The  startled  storm-clouds  reared  on  high 
And  plunged  in  terror  down  the  sky, 
And  the  big  rain  in  one  black  wave 
Fell  from  the  sky  and  struck  my  grave. 
I  know  not  how  such  things  can  be  ;> 
I  only  know  there  came  to  me 
A  fragrance  such  as  never  clings       i 

aught  save  happy  living  things; 
A  sound  as  of  some  joyous  elf 
Singing  sweet  songs  to  please  himself, 
And,  through  and  over  everything,    , 

A  sense  of  glad  awakening.        ^_^ 

(  ^"S.  ,  Y 

(WThe  grass,  a-tiptoe  at  my  eaJV         _X  ,J 

)   ^ 

Whispering  to  me  I  could  hear/ 


I  felt  the  rain's  cool  finger-tips 
Brushed  tenderly  across  my  lips, 


ii 


RENASCENCE 

Laid  gently  on  my  sealed  sight, 
And  all  at  once  the  heavy  night 
Fell  from  my  eyes  and  I  could  see, — 
A  drenched  and  dripping  apple-tree, 
A  last  long  line  of  silver  rain, 
A  sky  grown  clear  and  blue  again. 
And  as  I  looked  a  quickening  gust 
Of  wind  blew  up  to  me  and  thrust 
Into  my  face  a  miracle 
Of  orchard-breath,  and  with  the  smell, — 
I  know  not  how  such  things  can  be !  — 
I  breathed  my  soul  back  into  me. 
Ah!     Up  then  from  the  ground  sprang  I 
And  hailed  the  earth  with  such  a  cry 
\As  is  not  heard  save  from  a  man 
Who  has  been  dead,  and  lives  again. 

12 


RENASCENCE 

/76X About  the  trees  my  arms  I  wound; 

Like  one  gone  mad  I  hugged  the  ground  ;\ 
I  raised  my  quivering  arms  on  high; 
I  laughed  and  laughed  into  the  sky, 
Till  at  my  throat  a  strangling  sob 

it** Caught  fiercely,  and  a  great  heart-throb 
Sent  instant  tears  into  my  eyes; 

0  God,  I  cried,  no  dark  disguise 
Can  e'er  hereafter  hide  from  me 
Thy  radiant  identity! 

j$$  Thou  canst  not  move  across  the  grass 
But  my  quick  eyes  will  see  Thee  pass, 
Nor  speak,  however  silently, 
But  my  hushed  voice  will  answer  Thee. 

1  know  the  path  that  tells  Th*  way 
Through  the  cool  eve  of  every  day; 

13 


RENASCENCE 


God,  I  can  push  the  grass  apart 
And  lay  my  finger  on  Thy  heart! 


The  world  stands  out  on  either  side 
No  wider  than  the  heart  is  wide  ; 
Above  the  world  is  stretched  the  sky,— 
No  higher  than  the  soul  is  high. 
The  heart  can  push  the  sea  and  land 
Farther  away  on  either  hand; 
The  soul  can  split  the  sky  in  two, 
And  let  the  face  of  God  shine  through. 
But  East  and  West  will  pinch  the  heart 
That  can  not  keep  them  pushed  apart; 
And  he  whose  soul  is  flat  —  the  sky 
Will  cave  in  on  him  by  and  by. 


INTERIM 

I. 

THE  room  is  full  of  you !  —  As  I  came  in 

And  closed  the  door  behind  me,  all  at  once 

A  something  in  the  air,  intangible, 

Yet  stiff  with  meaning,  struck  my  senses  sick! 

Sharp,  unfamiliar  odors  have  destroyed 
Each  other  room's  dear  personality. 
The  heavy  scent  of  damp,  funereal  flowers, — 
The  very  essence,  hush-distilled,  of  Death  — 
Has  strangled  that  habitual  breath  of  home 
Whose  expiration  leaves  all  houses  dead ; 

15 


INTERIM 


And  wheresoe'er  I  look  is  hideous  change. 
Save  here.     Here  'twas  as  if  a  weed-choked  gate 
Had  opened  at  my  touch,  and  I  had  stepped 
Into  some  long-forgot,  enchanted,  strange, 
Sweet  garden  of  a  thousand  years  ago 
And  suddenly  thought,  "  I  have  been  here  before !  " 


You  are  not  here.     I  know  that  you  are  gone, 
And  will  not  ever  enter  here  again. 
And  yet  it  seems  to  me,  if  I  should  speak, 
Your  silent  step  must  wake  across  the  hall; 
If  I  should  turn  my  head,  that  your  sweet  eyes 
Would  kiss  me  from  the  door. —  So  short  a  time 
To  teach  my  life  its  transposition  to 
This  difficult  and  unaccustomed  key!  — 
The  room  is  as  you  left  it ;  your  last  touch  — 

16 


INTERIM 

A  thoughtless  pressure,  knowing  not  itself 
As  saintly  —  hallows  now  each  simple  thing; 
Hallows  and  glorifies,  and  glows  between 
The  dust's  grey  fingers  like  a  shielded  light. 

There  is  your  book,  just  as  you  laid  it  down, 
Face  to  the  table, —  I  cannot  believe 
That  you  are  gone !  —  Just  then  it  seemed  to  me 
You  must  be  here.     I  almost  laughed  to  think 
How  like  reality  the  dream  had  been; 
Yet  knew  before  I  laughed,  and  so  was  still. 
That  book,  outspread,  just  as  you  laid  it  down ! 
Perhaps  you  thought,  "  I  wonder  what  comes  next, 
And  whether  this  or  this  will  be  the  end  "  ; 
So  rose,  and  left  it,  thinking  to  return.      \ 


INTERIM 

Perhaps  that  chair,  when  you  arose  and  passed 
Out  of  the  room,  rocked  silently  a  while 
Ere  it  again  was  still.     When  you  were  gone 
Forever  from  the  room,  perhaps  that  chair, 
Stirred  by  your  movement,  rocked  a  little  while, 
Silently,  to  and  fro  ... 

And  here  are  the  last  words  your  fingers  wrote, 
Scrawled  in  broad  characters  across  a  page 
In  this  brown  book  I  gave  you.     Here  your  hand, 
Guiding  your  rapid  pen,  moved  up  and  down. 
Here  with  a  looping  knot  you  crossed  a  "  t." 
And  here  another  like  it,  just  beyond 
These  two  eccentric  "  e's."     You  were  so  small, 
And  wrote  so  brave  a  hand ! 

How  strange  it  seems 

18 


INTERIM 

That  of  all  words  these  are  the  words  you  chose! 
And  yet  a  simple  choice;  you  did  not  know 
You  would  not  write  again.     If  you  had  known  — 
But  then,  it  does  not  matter, —  and  indeed 
If  you  had  known  there  was  so  little  time 
You  would  have  dropped  your  pen  and  come  to  me 
And  this  page  would  be  empty,  and  some  phrase 
Other  than  this  would  hold  my  wonder  now. 
Yet,  since  you  could  not  know,  and  it  befell 
That  these  are  the  last  words  your  fingers  wrote, 
There  is  a  dignity  some  might  not  see 
In  this,  "  I  picked  the  first  sweet-pea  to-day." 
To-day!     Was  there  an  opening  bud  beside  it 
You  left  until  to-morrow  ?  —  O  my  love, 
The  things  that  withered, —  and  you  came  not  back ! 
That  day  you  filled  this  circle  of  my  arms 

19 


INTERIM 

That  now  is -empty.     (O  my  empty  life!) 
That  day  —  that  day  you  picked  the  first  sweet- 
pea,— 

And  brought  it  in  to  show  me !     I  recall 
With  terrible  distinctness  how  the  smell 
Of  your  cool  gardens  drifted  in  with  you. 
I  know,  you  held  it  up  for  me  to  see 
And  flushed  because  I  looked  not  at  the  flower, 
But  at  your  face ;  and  when  behind  my  look 
You  saw  such  unmistakable  intent 
You  laughed  and  brushed  your  flower  against  my 

lips. 

(You  were  the  fairest  thing  God  ever  made, 
I  think.)     And  then  your  hands  above  my  heart 
Drew  down  its  stem  into  a  fastening, 
And  while  your  head  was  bent  I  kissed  your  hair. 

20 


INTERIM 

I  wonder  if  you  knew.     (Beloved  hands! 
Somehow  I  cannot  seem  to  see  them  still. 
Somehow  I  cannot  seem  to  see  the  dust 
In  your  bright  hair.)     What  is  the  need  of  Heaven 
When  earth  can  be  so  sweet?  —  If  only  God 
Had  let  us  love, —  and  show  the  world  the  way ! 
Strange  cancellings  must  ink  th'  eternal  books 
When  love-crossed-out  will  bring  the  answer  right ! 
That  first  sweet-pea!     I  wonder  where  it  is. 
It  seems  to  me  I  laid  it  down  somewhere, 
And  yet, — I  am  not  sure.     I  am  not  sure, 
Even,  if  it  was  white  or  pink;  for  then 
'Twas  much  like  any  other  flower  to  me, 
Save  that  it  was  the  first.     I  did  not  know, 
Then,  that  it  was  the  last.     If  I  had  known  — 
But  then,  it  does  not  matter.     Strange  how  few, 

21 


INTERIM 

After  all's  said  and  done,  the  things  that  are 
Of  moment. 

Few  indeed!     When  I  can  make 
Of  ten  small  words  a  rope  to  hang  the  world! 
"  I  had  you  and  I  have  you  now  no  more." 
There,  there  it  dangles, —  where's  the  little  truth 
That  can  for  long  keep  footing  under  that 
When  its  slack  syllables  tighten  to  a  thought? 
Here,  let  me  write  it  down !     I  wish  to  see 
Just  how  a  thing  like  that  will  look  on  paper ! 


" /  had  you  and  I  have  you  now  no  more" 


O  little  words,  how  can  you  run  so  straight 
Across  the  page,  beneath  the  weight  you  bear? 
How  can  you  fall  apart,  whom  such  a  theme 

22 


INTERIM 

Has  bound  together,  and  hereafter  aid 

In  trivial  expression,  that  have  been 

So  hideously  dignified  ?  — Would  God 

That  tearing  you  apart  would  tear  the  thread 

I  strung  you  on !    Would  God  —  O  God,  my  mind 

Stretches  asunder  on  this  merciless  rack 

Of  imagery  !     O,  let  me  sleep  a  while ! 

Would  I  could  sleep,  and  wake  to  find  me  back 

In  that  sweet  summer  afternoon  with  you. 

Summer?     Tis  summer  still  by  the  calendar! 

How  easily  could  God,  if  He  so  willed, 

Set  back  the  world  a  little  turn  or  two ! 

Correct  its  griefs,  and  bring  its  joys  again! 

We  were  so  wholly  one  I  had  not  thought 
That  we  could  die  apart.     I  had  not  thought 
23 


INTERIM 

That  I  could  move, —  and  you  be  stiff  and  still ! 
That  I  could  speak, —  and  you  perforce  be  dumb! 
I  think  our  heart-strings  were,  like  warp  and  woof 
In  some  firm  fabric,  woven  in  and  out; 
Your  golden  filaments  in  fair  design 
Across  my  duller  fibre.     And  to-day 
The  shining  strip  is  rent;  the  exquisite 
Fine  pattern  is  destroyed;  part  of  your  heart 
Aches  in  my  breast;  part  of  my  heart  lies  chilled 
In  the  damp  earth  with  you.     I  have  been  torn 
In  two,  and  suffer  for  the  rest  of  me. 
What  is  my  life  to  me?    And  what  am  I 
To  life, —  a  ship  whose  star  has  guttered  out? 
A  Fear  that  in  the  deep  night  starts  awake 
Perpetually,  to  find  its  senses  strained 
Against  the  taut  strings  of  the  quivering  air, 

24 


INTERIM 

Awaiting  the  return  of  some  dread  chord? 

Dark,  Dark,  is  all  I  find  for  metaphor; 
All  else  were  contrast, —  save  that  contrast's  wall 
Is  down,  and  all  opposed  things  flow  together 
Into  a  vast  monotony,  where  night 
And  day,  and  frost  and  thaw,  and  death  and  life, 
Are  synonyms.     What  now  —  what  now  to  me 
Are  all  the  jabbering  birds  and  foolish  flowers 
That  clutter  up  the  world  ?     You  were  my  song ! 
Now,  let  discord  scream !     You  were  my  flower ! 
Now  let  the  world  grow  weeds  !     For  I  shall  not 
Plant  things  above  your  grave —  (the  common  balm 
Of  the  conventional  woe  for  its  own  wound!) 
Amid  sensations  rendered  negative 
By  your  elimination  stands  to-day, 

25 


INTERIM 

Certain,  unmixed,  the  element  of  grief ; 
I  sorrow;  and  I  shall  not  mock  my  truth 
With  travesties  of  suffering,  nor  seek 
To  effigy  its  incorporeal  bulk 
In  little  wry-faced  images  of  woe. 

I 

I  cannot  call  you  back;  and  I  desire 
No  utterance  of  my  immaterial  voice. 
I  cannot  even  turn  my  face  this  way 
Or  that,  and  say,  4t  My  face  is  turned  to  you  "  ; 
I  know  not  where  you  are,  I  do  not  know 
If  heaven  hold  you  or  if  earth  transmute, 
Body  and  soul,  you  into  earth  again; 
But  this  I  know: — not  for  one  second's  space 
Shall  I  insult  my  sight  with  visionings 
Such  as  the  credulous  crowd  so  eager-eyed 
26 


INTERIM 

Beholds,  self-conjured  in  the  empty  air. 
Let  the  world  wail !     Let  drip  its  easy  tears ! 
My  sorrow  shall  be  dumb ! 

—  What  do  I  say? 

God !  God !  —  God  pity  me !     Am  I  gone  mad 

That  I  should  spit  upon  a  rosary  ? 

Am  I  become  so  shrunken?    Would  to  God 

I  too  might  feel  that  frenzied  faith  whose  touch 

Makes  temporal  the  most  enduring  grief ; 

Though  it  must  walk  awhile,  as  is  its  wont, 

With  wild  lamenting !     Would  I  too  might  weep 

Where  weeps  the  world  and  hangs  its  piteous 

wreaths 

For  its  new  dead !     Not  Truth,  but  Faith,  it  is 
That  keeps  the  world  alive.     If  all  at  once 

27 


INTERIM 

Faith  were  to  slacken, —  that  unconscious  faith 
Which  must,  I  know,  yet  be  the  corner-stone 
Of  all  believing, —  birds  now  flying  fearless 
Across  would  drop  in  terror  to  the  earth ; 
Fishes  would  drown ;  and  the  all-governing  reins 
Would  tangle  in  the  frantic  hands  of  God 
And  the  worlds  gallop  headlong  to  destruction ! 

O  God,  I  see  it  now,  and  my  sick  brain 
Staggers  and  swoons!     How  often  over  me 
Flashes  this  breathlessness  of  sudden  sight 
In  which  I  see  the  universe  unrolled 
Before  me  like  a  scroll  and  read  thereon 
Chaos  and  Doom,  where  helpless  planets  whirl 
Dizzily  round  and  round  and  round  and  round, 


INTERIM 

Like  tops  across  a  table,  gathering  speed 
With  every  spin,  to  waver  on  the  edge 
One  instant  —  looking  over  —  and  the  next 
To  shudder  and  lurch  forward  out  of  sight  — 

******* 
Ah,  I  am  worn  out  —  I  am  wearied  out  — 
It  is  too  much  —  I  am  but  flesh  and  blood, 
And  I  must  sleep.     Though  you  were  dead  again, 
I  am  but  flesh  and  blood,  and  I  must  sleep. 


THE  SUICIDE 

"CURSE  thee.  Life,  I  will  live  with  thee  no  more! 
Thou  hast  mocked  me,  starved  me,  beat  my  body 

sore! 

And  all  for  a  pledge  that  was  not  pledged  by  me, 
I  have  kissed  thy  crust  and  eaten  sparingly 
That  I  might  eat  again,  and  met  thy  sneers 
With  deprecations,  and  thy  blows  with  tears, — 
Aye,  from  thy  glutted  lash,  glad,  crawled  away, 
As  if  spent  passion  were  a  holiday ! 
And  now  I  go.     Nor  threat,  nor  easy  vow 
Of  tardy  kindness  can  avail  thee  now 
With  me,  whence  fear  and  faith  alike  are  flown; 

30 


THE   SUICIDE 

Lonely  I  came,  and  I  depart  alone, 

And  know  not  where  nor  unto  whom  I  go; 

But  that  thou  canst  not  follow  me  I  know." 

Thus  I  to  Life,  and  ceased;  but  through  my  brain 
My  thought  ran  still,  until  I  spake  again: 

"  Ah,  but  I  go  not  as  I  came, —  no  trace 

Is  mine  to  bear  away  of  that  old  grace 

I  brought!     I  have  been  heated  in  thy  fires, 

Bent  by  thy  hands,  fashioned  to  thy  desires, 

Thy  mark  is  on  me !     I  am  not  the  same 

Nor  ever  more  shall  be,  as  when  I  came. 

Aghes..am  I  of  all  that  once  I  seemed. 

In  me  all's  sunk  that  leapt,  and  all  that  dreamed 

Is  wakeful  for  alarm, —  oh,  shame  to  thee, 


THE   SUICIDE 

For  the  ill  change  that  thou  hast  wrought  in  me, 

Who  laugh  no  more  nor  lift  my  throat  to  sing! 

^ — 

Ah,  life,  I  would  have  been  a  pleasant  thing 
To  have  about  the  house  when  I  was  grown 

V  jfL 

If  thou  hadst  left  my  little  joyi  alone! 

I  asked  of  thee  no  favor  save  this  one: 

That  thou  wouldst  leave  me  playing  in  the  sun!  _ 

And  this  thou  didst  deny,  calling  my  name 

Insistently,  until  I  rose  and  came. 

I  saw  the  sun  no  more.—  It  were  not  well 

So  long  on  these  unpleasant  thoughts  to  dwell. 

Need  I  arise  to-morrow  and  renew 

f  .'   .--\ 

Again  my  hated  tasks,  but  I  am  through 
With  all  things  save  my  thoughts  and  this  one  night, 
So  that  in  truth  I  seem  already  quite 
Free  and  remote  from  thee, —  I  feel  no  haste 

32 


THE   SUICIDE 


no  reluctance  to  depart;  I  taste 
^-"Merely,  with  thoughtful  mien,  an  unknown  draught, 
in  a  little  while  I  shall  have  quaffed." 


I  to  Life,  and  ceased,  and  slightly  smiled, 
U"Looking  at  nothing;  and  my  thin  dreams  filed 
"'Before  me  one  by  one  till  once  again 
I  set  new  words  unto  an  old  refrain: 


"  Treasures  thou  hast  that  never  have  been  mine  ! 

Warm  lights  in  many  a  secret  chamber  shine 

Of  thy  gaunt  house,  and  gusts  of  song  have  blown 

Like  blossoms  out  to  me  that  sat  alone  ! 

And  I  have  waited  well  for  thee  to  show 

If  any  share  were  mine,  —  and  now  I  go! 

Nothing  I  leave,  and  if  I  naught  attain 


THE   SUICIDE 

I  shall  but  come  into  mine  own  again!" 
Thus  I  to  Life,  and  ceased,  and  spake  no  more, 
But  turning,  straightway,  sought  a  certain  door 
In  the  rear  wall.     Heavy  it  was,  and  low 
And  dark, —  a  way  by  which  none  e'er  would  go 
That  other  exit  had,  and  never  knock 
Was  heard  thereat, —  bearing  a  curious  lock 
Some  chance  had  shown  me  fashioned  faultily, 
./Whereof  Life  held  content  the  useless  key, 
And  great  coarse  hinges,  thick  and  rough  with  rust, 
Whose  sudden  voice  across  a  silence  must, 
I  knew,  be  harsh  and  horrible  to  hear, — 
A  strange  door,  ugly  like  a  dwarf. —  So  near 
I  came  I  felt  upon  my  feet  the  chill 
Of  acid  wind  creeping  across  the  sill. 


34 


THE   SUICIDE 

So  stood  longtime,  till  over  me  at  last 
Came  weariness,  and  all  things  other  passed 
To  make  it  room ;  the  still  night  drifted  deep 
Like  snow  about  me,  and  I  longed  for  sleep. 

But,  suddenly,  marking  the  morning  hour, 
Bayed  the  deep-throated  bell  within  the  tower! 
Startled,  I  raised  my  head, —  and  with  a  shout 

Laid  hold  upon  the  latch, —  and  was  without. 
^  *  *  * 

Ah,  long-forgotten,  well-remembered  road, 
Leading  me  back  unto  my  old  abode, 
My  father's  house !     There  in  the  night  I  came, 
And  found  them  feasting,  and  all  things  the  same 
As  they  had  been  before.     A  splendour  hung 
Upon  the  walls,  and  such  sweet  songs  were  sung 

35 


THE   SUICIDE 

As,  echoing  out  of  very  long  ago, 
Had  called  me  from  the  house  of  Life,  I  know. 
So  fair  their  raiment  shone  I  looked  in  shame 
On  the  unlovely  garb  in  which  I  came ; 
Then  straightway  at  my  hesitancy  mocked: 
"It  is  my  father's  house ! "  I  said  and  knocked ; 
And  the  door  opened.     To  the  shining  crowd 
Tattered  and  dark  I  entered,  like  a  cloud, 
Seeing  no  face  but  his;  to  him  I  crept, 
And  "  Father !  "  I  cried,  and  clasped  his  knees,  and 
wept. 

v 

Ah,  days  of  joy  that  followed!     All  alone 
I  wandered  through  the  house.     My  own,  my  own, 
My  own  to  touch,  my  own  to  taste  and  smell, 
All  I  had  lacked  so  long  and  loved  so  well! 


THE   SUICIDE 

None  shook  me  out  of  sleep,  nor  hushed  my  song, 
Nor  called  me  in  from  the  sunlight  all  day  long. 

I  know  not  when  the  wonder  came  to  me 
Of  what  my  father's  business  might  be, 
And  whither  fared  and  on  what  errands  bent 
The  tall  and  gracious  messengers  he  sent. 
Yet  one  day  with  no  song  from  dawn  till  night 
Wondering,  I  sat,  and  watched  them  out  of  sight. 
And  the  next  day  I  called;  and  on  the  third 
Asked  them  if  I  might  go, —  but  no  one  heard 
Then,  sick  with  longing,  I  arose  at  last 
And  went  unto  my  father, —  in  that  vast 
Chamber  wherein  he  for  so  many  years 
Has  sat,  surrounded  by  his  charts  and  spheres. 
"  Father,"  I  said,  "  Father,  I  cannot  play 

37 


THE   SUICIDE 

The  harp  that  thou  didst  give  me,  and  all  day 

I  sit  in  idleness,  while  to  and  fro 

About  me  thy  serene,  grave  servants  go; 

And  I  am  weary  of  my  lonely  ease. 

Better  a  perilous  journey  overseas 

Away  from  thee,  than  this,  the  life  I  lead, 

To  sit  all  day  in  the  sunshine  like  a  weed 

That  grows  to  naught, —  I  love  thee  more  than  they 

Who  serve  thee  most;  yet  serve  thee  in  no  way. 

Father,  I  beg  of  thee  a  little  task 

To  dignify  my  days, — 'tis  all  I  ask 

Forever,  but  forever,  this  denied, 

I  perish." 

"  Child,"  my  father's  voice  replied, 
"  All  things  thy  fancy  hath  desired  of  me 
Thou  hast  received.     I  have  prepared  for  thee 

38 


THE   SUICIDE 


Within  my  house  a  spacious  chamber,  where 
Are  delicate  things  to  handle  and  to  wear, 
And  all  these  things  are  thine.     Dost  thou  love 


song? 


My  minstrels  shall  attend  thee  ail  day  long. 

Or  sigh  for  flowers?     My  fairest  gardens  stand 

Open  as  fields  to  thee  on  every  hand. 

And  all  thy  days  this  word  shall  hold  the  same : 

No  pleasure  shalt  thou  lack  that  thou  shalt  name. 

But  as  for  tasks  — "  he  smiled,  and  shook  his  head ; 

"  Thou  hadst  thy  task,  and  laidst  it  by,"  he  said. 


39 


, 

GOD'S  WORLD 


O  WORLD,  I  cannot  hold  thee  close  enough! 

Thy  winds,  thy  wide  grey  skies ! 

Thy  mists,  that  roll  and  rise! 
Thy  woods,  this  autumn  day,  that  ache  and  sag 
And  all  but  cry  with  colour!     That  gaunt  crag 
To  crush!     To  lift  the  lean  of  that  black  bluff! 
World,  World,  I  cannot  get  thee  close  enough! 

Long  have  I  known  a  glory  in  it  all, 

But  never  knew  I  this ; 

Here  such  a  passion  is 
As  stretcheth  me  apart, —  Lord,  I  do  fear 
Thou'st  made  the  world  too  beautiful  this  year; 
My  soul  is  all  but  out  of  me, —  let  fall 
No  burning  leaf ;  prithee,  let  no  bird  call, 
40 


AFTERNOON  ON  A  HILL 

I  WILL  be  the  gladdest  thing 

Under  the  sun! 
I  will  touch  a  hundred  flowers 

And  not  pick  one. 

I  will  look  at  cliffs  and  clouds 

With  quiet  eyes, 
Watch  the  wind  bow  down  the  grass, 

And  the  grass  rise. 


AFTERNOON    ON    A    HILL 

And  when  lights  begin  to  show 

Up   from  the  town, 
I  will  mark  which  must  be  mine, 

And  then  start  down! 


4.: 


SORROW 

SORROW  like  a  ceaseless  rain 

Beats  upon  my  heart. 
People  twist  and  scream  in  pain, — 
Dawn  will  find  them  still  again ; 
This  has  neither  wax  nor  wane, 

Neither  stop  nor  start. 

People  dress  and  go  to  town; 

I  sit  in  my  chair. 

All  my  thoughts  are  slow  and  brown 
Standing  up  or  sitting  down 
Little  matters,  or  what  gown 

Or  what  shoes  I  wear. 
43 


TAVERN 

I'LL  keep  a  little  tavern 
Below  the  high  hill's  crest, 

Wherein  all  grey-eyed  people 
May  set  them  down  and  rest. 

There  shall  be  plates  a-plenty, 
And  mugs  to  melt  the  chill 

Of  all  the  grey-eyed  people 
Who  happen  up  the  hill. 

There  sound  will  sleep  the  traveller, 
And  dream  his  journey's  end, 
44 


TAVERN 


But  I  will  rouse  at  midnight 
The  falling  fire  to  tend. 

Aye,  'tis  a  curious  fancy  — 

But  all  the  good  I  know 
Was  taught  me  out  of  two  grey  eyes 

A  long  time  ago. 


45 


ASHES  OF  LIFE 

LOVE  has  gone  and  left  me  and  the  days  are  all 

alike ; 
Eat  I  must,  and  sleep  I  will,— and  would  that 

night  were  here! 
But  ah!  —  to  lie  awake  and  hear  the  slow  hours 

strike ! 

Would  that  it  were  day  again!  —  with  twilight 
near! 


Love  has  gone  and  left  me  and  I  don't  know  what 

to  do; 

This  or  that  or  what  you  will  is  all  the  same 
to  me; 

46 


ASHES   OF   LIFE 

But  all  the  things  that  I  begin  I  leave  before  I'm 

through, — 
There's  little  use  in  anything  as  far  as  I  can  see. 

Love  has  gone  and  left  me,— and  the  neighbors 

knock  and  borrow, 
And  life  goes  on  forever  like  the  gnawing  of  a 

mouse, — 
And  to-morrow  and  to-morrow  and  to-morrow  and 

to-morrow 
There's  this  little  street  and  this  little  house. 


47 


THE  LITTLE  GHOST 

I  KNEW  her  for  a  little  ghost 
That  in  my  garden  walked; 

The  wall  is  high  — higher  than  most 
And  the  green  gate  was  locked. 

And  yet  I  did  not  think  of  that 
Till  after  she  was  gone  — 

I  knew  her  by  the  broad  white  hat, 
All  ruffled,  she  had  on. 

By  the  dear  ruffles  round  her  feet, 
By  her  small  hands  that  hung 
48 


THE   LITTLE   GHOST 

In  their  lace  mitts,  austere  and  sweet, 
Her  gown's  white  folds  among. 

I  watched  to  see  if  she  would  stay, 
What  she  would  do  —  and  oh! 

She  looked  as  if  she  liked  the  way 
I  let  my  garden  grow! 

She  bent  above  my  favourite  mint 

With  conscious  garden  grace, 
She  smiled  and  smiled  —  there  was  no  hint 

Of  sadness  in  her  face. 


She  held  her  gown  on  either  side 
To  let  her  slippers  show, 


49 


THE    LITTLE    GHOST 

And  up  the  walk  she  went  with  pride, 
The  way  great  ladies  go. 

And  where  the  wall  is  built  in  new 

And  is  of  ivy  bare 
She  paused  —  then  opened  and  passed  through 

A  gate  that  once  was  there. 


KIN  TO  SORROW 

AM  I  kin  to  Sorrow, 

That  so  oft 
Falls  the  knocker  of  my  door- 

Neither  loud  nor  soft, 
But  as  long  accustomed, 

Under  Sorrow's  hand  ? 
Marigolds  around  the  step 

And  rosemary  stand, 
And  then  comes  Sorrow  — 

And  what  does  Sorrow  care 
For  the  rosemary 

Or  the  marigolds  there? 
5i 


KIN,   TO    SORROW 

Am  I  kin  to  Sorrow? 

Are  we  kin  ? 
That  so  oft  upon  my  door 

Oh,  come  in! 


THREE  SONGS  OF  SHATTERING 


THE  first  rose  on  my  rose-tree 

Budded,  bloomed,  and  shattered, 
During  sad  days  when  to  me 
Nothing  mattered. 

Grief  of  grief  has  drained  me  clean; 

Still  it  seems  a  pity 
No  one  saw, —   it  must  have  been 
Very  pretty. 


53 


THREE   SONGS   OF   SHATTERING 
II 

Let  the  little  birds  sing; 

Let  the  little  lambs  play; 
Spring  is  here;  and  so  'tis  spring;  — 

But  not  in  the  old  way ! 

I  recall  a  place 

Where  a  plum-tree  grew; 
There  you  lifted  up  your  face, 

And  blossoms  covered  you. 

If  the  little  birds  sing, 
And  the  little  lambs  play, 

Spring  is  here;  and  so  'tis  spring  — 
But  not  in  the  old  way! 


54 


THREE   SONGS   OF   SHATTERING 
III 

j  All  the  dog-wood  blossoms  are  underneath  the  tree ! 

Ere  spring  was  going  —  ah,  spring  is  gone! 
And  there  comes  no  summer  to  the  like  of  you  and 

me, — 
Blossom  time  is  early,  but  no  fruit  sets  on. 

All  the  dog-wood  blossoms  are  underneath  the  tree, 

Browned  at  the  edges,  turned  in  a  day ; 
And  I  would  with  all  my  heart  they  trimmed  a 

mound  for  me, 

And  weeds  were  tall  on  all  the  paths  that  led  that 
way! 


55 


THE  SHROUD 

DEATH,  I  say,  my  heart  is  bowed 
Unto  thine, —  O  mother! 

This  red  gown  will  make  a  shroud 
Good  as  any  other ! 

(I,  that  would  not  wait  to  wear 

My  own  bridal  things, 
In  a  dress  dark  as  my  hair 

Made  my  answerings. 

I,  to-night,  that  till  he  came 
Could  not,  could  not  wait, 
56 


THE   SHROUD 

In  a  gown  as  bright  as  flame 
Held  for  them  the  gate.) 

Death,  I  say,  my  heart  is  bowed 
Unto  thine, —  O  mother ! 

This  red  gown  will  make  a  shroud 
Good  as  any  other ! 


THE  DREAM 

LOVE,  if  I  weep  it  will  not  matter, 
And  if  you  laugh  I  shall  not  care; 

Foolish  am  I  to  think  about  it, 
But  it  is  good  to  feel  you  there. 

Love,  in  my  sleep  I  dreamed  of  waking, — 
White  and  awful  the  moonlight  reached 

Over  the  floor,  and  somewhere,  somewhere. 
There  was  a  shutter  loose, —  it  screeched ! 

Swung  in  the  wind, —  and  no  wind  blowing !  - 
I  was  afraid,  and  turned  to  you, 
58 


THE   DREAM 


Put  out  my  hand  to  you  for  comfort,— 
And  you  were  gone !     Cold,  cold  as  dew, 

Under  my  hand  the  moonlight  lay! 

Love,  if  you  laugh  I  shall  not  care, 
But  if  I  weep  it  will  not  matter, — 

Ah,  it  is  good  to  feel  you  there ! 


59 


INDIFFERENCE 

i  SAID, —  for  Love  was  laggard,  O,  Love  was  slow 

to  come, — 
"  I'll  hear  his  step  and  know  his  step  when  I  am 

warm  in  bed; 
But  I'll  never  leave  my  pillow,  though  there  be 

some 
As   would  let  him   in  — and   take  him   in  with 

tears  !  "  I  said. 
I  lay,—  for  Love  was  laggard,  O,  he  came  not  until 

dawn, — 
I  lay  and  listened  for  his  step  and  could  not  get 

to  sleep; 
And  he   found  me   at  my   window   with   my  big 

cloak  on, 

All  sorry  with  the  tears  some  folks  might  weep ! 
60 


WITCH-WIFE 

SHE  is  neither  pink  nor  pale, 
And  she  never  will  be  all  mine; 

She  learned  her  hands  in  a  fairy-tale, 
And  her  mouth  on  a  valentine. 

She  has  more  hair  than  she  needs ; 

In  the  sun  'tis  a  woe  to  me ! 
And  her  voice  is  a  string  of  colored  beads, 

Or  steps  leading  into  the  sea. 

She  loves  me  all  that  she  can, 
And  her  ways  to  my  ways  resign; 

But  she  was  not  made  for  any  man, 
And  she  never  will  be  all  mine. 
61 


BLIGHT 

HARD  seeds  of  hate  I  planted 
That  should  by  now  be  grown, — 

Rough  stalks,  and  from  thick  stamens 
A  poisonous  pollen  blown, 

And  odors  rank,  unbreathable, 
From  dark  corollas  thrown! 

At  dawn  from  my  damp  garden 

I  shook  the  chilly  dew ; 
The  thin  boughs  locked  behind  me 

That  sprang  to  let  me  through ; 


62 


BLIGHT 

The  blossoms  slept,—  I  sought  a  place 
Where  nothing  lovely  grew. 

And  there,  when  day  was  breaking, 
I  knelt  and  looked  around: 

The  light  was  near,  the  silence 
Was  palpitant  with  sound; 

I  drew  my  hate  from  out  my  breast 
And  thrust  it  in  the  ground. 

Oh,  ye  so  fiercely  tended, 

/ 
Ye  little  seeds  of  hate! 

I  bent  above  your  growing 

Early  and  noon  and  late, 
Yet  are  ye  drooped  and  pitiful, — • 

I  cannot  rear  ye  straight ! 
63 


BLIGHT 

The  sun  seeks  out  my  garden, 

No  nook  is  left  in  shade, 
No  mist  nor  mold  nor  mildew 

Endures  on  any  blade, 
Sweet  rain  slants  under  every  bough: 

Ye  falter,  and  ye  fade. 


64 


WHEN  THE  YEAR  GROWS  OLD 

I  CANNOT  but  remember 
When  the  year  grows  old  — 

October  —  November  — 
How  she  disliked  the  cold! 

She  used  to  watch  the  swallows 
Go  down  across  the  sky, 

And  turn  from  the  window 
With  a  little  sharp  sigh. 

And  often  when  the  brown  leaves 
Were  brittle  on  the  ground, 
65  * 


WHEN    THE    YEAR    GROWS    OLD 

And  the  wind  in  the  chimney 
Made  a  melancholy  sound. 

She  had  a  look  about  her 
That  I  wish  I  could  forget  — 

The  look  of  a  scared  thing 
Sitting  in  a  net ! 

Oh,  beautiful  at  nightfall 
The  soft  spitting  snow! 

And  beautiful  the  bare  boughs 
Rubbing  to  and  fro ! 

But  the  roaring  of  the  fire, 
And  the  warmth  of  fur, 


66 


WHEN    THE    YEAR    GROWS    OLD 

And  the  boiling  of  the  kettle 
Were  beautiful  to  her ! 

I  cannot  but  remember 

When  the  year  grows  old  — 

October  —  November  — 
How  she  disliked  the  cold ! 


SONNETS 

i 

THOU  art  not  lovelier  than  lilacs, —  no,"    / 

{y 
Nor  honeysuckle ;  thou  art  not  more  fair 

Than  small  white  single  poppies, —  I  can  bear 
Thy  beauty;  though  I  bend  before  thee,  though  ^ 
From  left  to  right,  not  knowing  where  to  go,  4"" 

I  turn  my  troubled  eyes,  nor  here  nor  there 

fi  > 
j    Find  any  refuge  from  thee,  yet  I  swear 

it 
So  has  it  been  with  mist, —  with  moonlight  so.  / 

Like  him  who  day  by  day  unto  his  draught    / 
«2-  Of  delicate  poison  adds  him  one  drop  more 
VTill  he  may  drink  unharmed  the  death  of  ten, 
pven  so,  inured  to  beauty,  who  have  quaffed  tf 
$"  Each  hour  more  deeply  than  the  hour  before, 
I  drink  —  and  live  —  what  has  destroyed  some  men. 

68 


II 

Time  does  not  bring  relief ;  you  all  have  lied 

Who  told  me  time  would  ease  me  of  my  pain ! 

I  miss  him  in  the  weeping  of  the  rain; 
I  want  him  at  the  shrinking  of  the  tide; 
The  old  snows  melt  from  every  mountain-side, 

And  last  year's  leaves  are  smoke  in  every  lane ; 

But  last  year's  bitter  loving  must  remain 
Heaped  on  my  heart,  and  my  old  thoughts  abide! 


There  are  a  hundred  places  where  I  fear     *-V 

To  go, —  so  with  his  memory  they  brim ! 
And  entering  with  relief  some  quiet  place  C 
Where  never  fell  his  foot  or  shone  his  face  & 
I  say,  "  There  is  no  memory  of  him  here^ ! " 
And  so  stand  stricken,  so  remembering  him1 
69 


Ill 

Mindful  of  you  the  sodden  earth  in  spring. 

And  all  the  flowers  that  in  the  springtime  grow, 
And  dusty  roads,  and  thistles,  and  the  slow 

Rising  of  the  round  moon,  all  throats  that  sing 

The  summer  through,  and  each  departing  wing, 
And  all  the  nests  that  the  bared  branches  show, 
And  all  winds  that  in  any  weather  blow, 

And  all  the  storms  that  the  four  seasons  bring. 

You  go  no  more  on  your  exultant  feet 

Ug  paths  that  only  mist  and  morning  knew, 
Or  watch  the  wind,  or  listen  to  the  beat 

•v 

Of  a  bird's  wings  too  high  in  air  to  view,— 

fr— 
But  you  were  something  more  than  young  and  sweet 

And  fair,—  and  the  long  year  remembers  you. 
70 


IV 

Not  in  this  chamber  only  at  my  birth  — 

When  the  long  hours  of  that  mysterious  night 
Were  over,  and  the  morning  was  in  sight  — 

I  cried,  but  in  strange  places,  steppe  and  firth 

I  have  not  seen,  through  alien  grief  and  mirth; 
And  never  shall  one  room  contain  me  quite 
Who  in  so  many  rooms  first  saw  the  light, 

Child  of  all  mothers,  native  of  the  earth. 

s 

So  is  no  warmth  for  me  at  any  fire 

To-day,  when  the  world's  fire  has  burned  so  low ;     L 
I  kneel,  spending  my  breath  in  vain  desire, 
At  that  cold  hearth  which  one  time  roared  so  strong, 
And  straighten  back  in  weariness,  and  long 

To  gather  up  my  little  gods  and  go. 


V 

If  I  should  learn,  in  some  quite  casual  way, 
That  you  were  gone,  not  to  return  again  —  & 

Read  from  the  back-page  of  a  paper,  say, 
Held  by  a  neighbor  in  a  subway  train, 

How  at  the  corner  of  this  avenue  ( : 

/I 
And  such  a  street  (so  are  the  papers  rilled) 

A  hurrying  man  —  who  happened  to  be  you  — 
At  noon  to-day  had  happened  to  be  killed, 

I  should  not  cry  aloud  —  I  could  not  cry 
Aloud,  or  wring  my  hands  in  such  a  place  — 

I  should  but  watch  the  station  lights  rush  by 
With  a  more  careful  interest  on  my  face, 

Or  raise  my  eyes  and  read  with  gi  eater  care 

Where  to  store  furs  and  how  to  treat  the  hair. 

72 


VI 

BLUEBEARD 
THIS  door  you  might  not  open,  and  you  did; 

So  enter  now,  and  see  for  what  slight  thing 
You  are  betrayed.  .  .  .  Here  is  no  treasure  hid, 

No  cauldron,  no  clear  crystal  mirroring 
The  sought- for  truth,  no  heads  of  women  slain 

For  greed  like  yours,  no  writhings  of  distress, 
But  only  what  you  see.  .  .  .  Look  yet  again  — 
An  empty  room,  cobwebbed  and  comfortless. 
Yet  this  alone  out  of  my  life  I  kept 

Unto  myself,  lest  any  know  me  quite ; 
And  you  did  so  profane  me  when  you  crept 

Unto  the  threshold  of  this  room  to-night 
That  I  must  never  more  behold  your  face. 
This  now  is  yours.     I  seek  another  place. 

73  : ', :          •.  : ; ' 


•••• 


.^ 


LOAN  DEPT 


LD  21A-50m-3,'62 
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.General  Library 

Unxversity  of  California 

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